Sober Up
by Aerileigh
Summary: Ginny Weasley, star player for the Falmouth Falcons, takes the "if we cannot win, let us break a few heads" motto very seriously, even when it means ugly bruises, ruined designer heels, and drunken rants in hotel lobbies. The team's owner, however, is not amused-especially at 4am. Written for my own old challenge, "A Malfoy Inspects a Weasley After a Fight," at The DG Forum. DM/GW


The usual disclaimer applies. I posed a challenge at The DG Forum: a short story with the prompt "A Malfoy inspects a Weasley after a fight." It was set to end on May 9, 2011. It's October of 2012, but I have done it. Huzzah.

Props for the title and super speedy, super lovely beta work go to Haz (Ha'niqua).

* * *

Despite her drunken, adrenaline-fed stupor, Ginny was aware that she was bleeding from the head. But that didn't much matter; the other team looked far, far worse.

"Job well done, Weasley," she congratulated herself, then swore—apparently, she'd split her lip, and silence was to be preferred.

She fumbled for the key to her hotel room, acutely aware that despite the fog of Firewhiskey picking over the edges of her thoughts, she needed to sober up and do some healing charms before the coach of the Falmouth Falcons figured out that she'd gotten half the team involved in a drunken brawl.

The key wasn't working, and she kicked the door angrily. Stupid Muggle inventions, keys. Wizarding Canada really needed to get with the program. Their Quidditch players fought like Muggle brutes and they used _keys_.

This was another time when being the only girl on the team was a disadvantage; she had no roommate to let her in. She kicked the door again for good measure and slumped next to it. There was blood in her mouth, dammit, and she was never going to listen to Green and leave her wand in her room again. So what if there were Muggles about? She was handy with her Oblivate spellwork by now.

"Come. ON," she said, embellishing her renewed attempt at the key with a few choice epithets, including a rather lovely one involving Merlin's anatomy that would have made her mother cringe.

The sound of a door clicking unlocked behind her caught her attention, and she swung around with a charming smile.

"Hi, there. So sorry to have bothered—oh, shit."

The team's owner usually didn't accompany them on away games to Canada, preferring the more exotic locales as a rule, but with Moosejaw set as a front-runner for hosting the next cup, he'd Floo'd in for the game. Ginny was perfectly fine with his hands-off style, since she preferred to focus on her Quaffle-handling and had made it a habit long ago to let her lawyers deal with the contracts and club bureaucracy, so she was prevented from having much contact with the team's owner. Besides, he was a right git and she'd never quite forgiven him for being a rich, spoiled prat at school.

But apparently, due to the tiny size of the hotel, he'd gotten the room across from Ginny's.

"Salazar's arse, Weasley. What in seven hells are you doing?" he groaned, sticking his head out the door. "Some of us like to sleep at four in the morning."

She sniffed. "I'm trying to get into my room, but can't seem to manage this bloody key."

Malfoy frowned calculatingly, then stepped out into the hall. He was barefoot and shirtless and his hair was a mess, and Ginny felt a twinge of satisfaction at seeing Witch Weekly's Best Dressed Bachelor in his pyjamas. She hoped that she wasn't too drunk to forget this moment tomorrow.

He held out his hand for the key and examined it carefully. "This isn't the key to this room, Weasley. This is the key for 202, not 302."

She laughed. "Whoops, silly me. Wrong room!"

She made to grab the key but he grabbed it away. "Not unless you're sharing a room with the other team. Meteorites are on floor two; _my_team is on this floor."

Ginny chuckled again and made another grab for the key. "Well, I better go complain to the staff for giving me the wrong—"

Draco's hand caught her shoulder and she stumbled back into the wall. The light above flickered slightly, and the floral carpet made her suddenly nauseated.

"Why are you bleeding, Weasley?" he asked dangerously, "And why do you have the key of someone on the other team?"

She glowered drunkenly. "You're my boss, not my mum," she said, chewing slightly on her bleeding lip.

"Which means I'm the one who will sack your sorry arse if you earn me yet another lawsuit. Your legal fees are starting to outweigh your salary," he said, still holding her shoulder tightly.

She shoved his arm aside. "You should have bought a pansy-arsed Quidditch team if you didn't want to deal with lawsuits. Maybe I'll sue _your_sorry arse if you harass me. Who do you think the Wizengamot would side with? The Quidditch star or the wealthy ponce who harassed her in a hallway at four in the goddamn morning?"

He laughed. "Right. Because there aren't a whole slew of witnesses in some bar down the street who watched you pick a fight with a pack of men twice your size. The Wizengamot doesn't concern themselves with popularity, Weasley. They pay attention to facts."

"Like the fact you're a git?" she said, drunkenly sliding out of her heels. Her feet hurt and she only wore the damned things because they made her legs look sexy, and she did not much care what Draco thought of her legs. Much.

A noise down the hall attracted Draco's attention, and he grabbed her wrist, accio'd her shoes, and pulled them into his room.

"Oh, haha, what now? Can you imagine what the gossip rags will say tomorrow when they figure out that _you_ had _me_ in your _room_?" she laughed, collapsing onto the bed.

He frowned and grabbed a t-shirt from the back of a chair and shrugged it on. "You're not staying here. But you're certainly not running around the hotel trying to get into your room while you're drunk and bruised. The less the tabloids have to work with, the better."

She flopped back on the bed and watched the ceiling wobble. She really was drunk, she realized. Had he threatened to sack her, or HAD he sacked her? She couldn't remember.

He was rummaging around in his luggage when she sat up and promptly slid off the bed.

"Bloody hell, you're a wreck, Weasley," he said, shaking his head. He pulled out a small box, flipped it open, and selected a gleaming blue vial from the assortment of potions therein. "Sober up."

Ginny eyed the container with distaste. "I hate this kind. S'nasty."

Without preamble, he uncorked the potion, grabbed her chin, and ruthlessly tipped the sour liquid into her mouth. "I have no patience for you anymore, Weasley. If you had a worse lawyer and weren't such a damn good chaser, I would have fired you after Belfast last year."

_Yes. St. Patrick's Day. That had been epic_, Ginny thought as she choked on the Sober Up potion. It took several minutes and a few dry heaves for the magic to work the alcohol out of her system, but when it was gone, Ginny's first realization was exactly how much she hurt.

"Better?" Malfoy asked, and she nodded.

He sighed and stood up. "Where's my wand?" he muttered, then, to Ginny, "Did you put anyone in the hospital this time?"

She dropped her head between her knees. "No. I don't think so. I don't remember. Green wasn't looking very good, but I think he'll be fine."

"I meant from the other team," Draco said dryly.

"Oh, no," she said to the floor. "I mean, we got the better of them, but I don't think anyone even broke a limb."

"Oh, lucky them," he drawled sarcastically.

She felt a cool tingle of magic as he touched the tip of his wand to her face, then the odd sensation of magic crawling over her skin as it knit her lip back together. He repeated this action along the gash of her forehead.

"Anywhere else?" he asked clinically.

Everywhere else, Ginny thought. She had a vague memory of being smashed across the back with a piece of furniture and bruises were most likely forming on her arms and legs. But she wasn't about to tell Draco that.

"No, I'm okay."

He snorted. "You're anything but okay. But don't you dare lie to me. If you seek medical care elsewhere, even from the team attendant, and it goes on the record, I'm not defending you if there's a lawsuit."

She sighed. "I'm just bruised up. I have ointment for that in my room, and after all these years of playing for Falmouth, I'm good at healing myself."

He folded his arms. "No broken ribs? Nothing that'll keep you from being in top form tomorrow?"

She shook her head.

"Mhmm," he murmured cynically. "You're covered in blood." He grasped her chin between his thumb and first finger and muttered a soft "_tergeo_," to clean her face, and for a moment, she wondered what he'd do if she slipped out of her top and asked him to heal the bruises on her back. But then he let her go, and she sighed and grabbed her shoes.

"Do I need to go with you to get that key?"

"No," she said softly. "I'm fine."

He appraised her. "You know what, Weasley? When you're sober and tired of throwing punches and barbs, you're actually not half bad."

She stood and tossed him a smile as she stepped out the door. "Remember that when you're negotiating my next contract, yeah?"

* * *

A/N: I could leave this as a one-shot, but if she's on the team and he owns the team, they're going to have more run-ins, right? At the very least, something hilarious happened in Belfast that one time, you know? What do you think?

Oh, and while we're at it, you should go read and vote in The Battle of the Drabbles going on at The DG Forum - see the link in my profile. It's anonymous, so you can't tell which ones I wrote right away, but they're the best ones in the bunch so you shouldn't have any trouble voting for me. ;) Well, okay, you might ... it's a REALLY good bunch of writers. :) Round 2 is currently open for voting, and the battle goes for another three rounds, so there will be plenty of opportunities (meaning you should definitely follow the story). /shameless plug


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